Cry
by The Darklight Angel
Summary: It's amazing what the rain can make a battered Maria Despair do.


Cry

A little fic that came to me in a flash of inspiration. I'm sorry if it seems to lose its train of thought.

Disclaimer – I don't own Maria. She belongs to Xenolord. Safiria belongs to Artix Entertainment.

* * *

Someone once tells her that all the water in the world is the exact same water that was there when the world began, hundreds, thousands, millions and millions of years ago. When Maria hears this, she puts on a smile that is so overused, she can't even tell if it's plastic or not anymore, and thanks them for the interesting tidbit of information.

Whenever the skies turn dark and the clouds become gray, full, and ominous above her, she waits for the downpour with bated breath, staring up hopefully, sombrely into the sky.

Maria loves the rain.

Slowly, the raindrops come down, one by one, and she is there, outside, waiting for the rest to come.

Maria loves the rain.

The rain pours down on her, and she lets it, allowing the rain to soak through her clothes and run down the pale skin of her arms.

She catches the drops in her mouth, tilting her head back with an open mouth, so that the water can pool and collect there. Her eyes remain open, her arms spread wide, and she doesn't move, even as the rain trickles through her hair to her scalp and runs from there down her neck uncomfortably.

Only once her lungs scream for oxygen, and breathing through her nose simply won't suffice anymore, does she swallow the rain she has caught and allows herself to breathe.

Maria loves the rain.

Safiria watches as Maria drinks the rainwater, letting her entire self be covered with it at the same time. Safiria steps into it too, letting her body, as Maria is, be bathed, washed, soaked, immersed, _and cleansed_ by the cool water.

If only for a moment.

Every time Maria goes outside when it rains, and every time, Safiria never questions why; because, she knows.

She knows why Maria loves the rain, without any questions asked.

They are both old, their bodies preserved forever in eternal youth, belying their true ages. They have survived centuries. They have lived (while not truly living) through thousands of years.

Their memories, unfortunately, have not.

Maria loves the rain.

Because it helps her almost remember, because the rain is something, the same thing, one of the _only_ things that was there back then.

The pitter-patter reminds Maria of the sound of people, running across the land with boots and armour.

The rain reminds Maria of good times. It reminds her of her friends, family, and comrades; it reminds her of the older sister who was more of a best friend, an odd couple consisting of a Ranger and a Rogue that was a surprising match made in heaven, and of laughter, of _friendship_.

And she loves it for that.

But she loves it because it reminds her of the bad times too.

It reminds her of her battles of life and death, or, in her case, life _in_ death, taking place in downpours much like the one she stand in now. It reminds her of the monsters hat used to roam the lands, which used storms to bolster their strength to try and destroy everything she stood for, everything she protected.

Maria loves the rain.

She loves it because along with helping her remember, it helps her forget as well.

When she soaks herself in it, she can forget everything.

She can forget her facade, she can forget being cynical and angry and weary; she can forget being everything she is now and be the happy and cocky legendary warrior she was _t__**hen**_.

She can forget that almost all traces of the world she was born in, the world she once lived in has been wiped out. She can forget that she hasn't changed, that she still looks like she eighteen even though she's really over a thousand. She can forget it all, she can just be.

Yet Maria hates the rain as well.

Every time she lets her body be touched by the rain, it cools her, cooling off the scorching heat she feels, even though her body does not emit it.

Yet it leaves her too cold, too weak, and shivering as she feels the chill seep into her skin and bones.

The rain she swallows soothes and refreshes her parched, dry, and papery throat.

But the taste is bitter and sour, and Maria feels the tiniest bit dirty for consuming it.

Like she does remembering

The memories are wonderful to her, but she is ashamed to indulge in them. It has been over millennia since they occurred, and she can't let go, even though the most of her precious thoughts are only hazy blurs, snippets of what actually happened.

Maria knows she should move on, but she can't. She knows she shouldn't bask in her past, but she does.

Those days were the best she had ever had, in both her life and un-life.

And even though Maria loves the rain for reminding her of good times and bad times, she hated it more for making her recall the very worst occasions, the memories she wants to but cannot, can never forget.

For the rain makes her remember of the day when she thrust her fists into the ground, over and over and over again so hard until the felt numb and raw, and bled. It reminds her of the gentle woman who slaughtered the ancestors of those that Maria slaughters now, who had to literally hold her down so she wouldn't run as fast as she could back to _that_ place so she could, pound, pound, pound the earth and ask herself and the Creator above why her pride and joy had to be taken away.

And though Safiria knows what Maria remembers, she does not know the entirety of it.

For the truth is:

Maria loves the rain because it helps her remember her humanity.

Yet she hates it because it reminds her of what she has lost.

Maria loves the rain because it lets her forget who she is now,

Yet she hates it because the relief it brings is short lived, and leaves her feeling worse than before; craving more and more and more.

Maris loves the rain because it lets her feel; feel emotions, let's herself do thing she hasn't done for years.

She cannot decide whether she loves the rain more, or if she hates it more. The truth of the matter is... it is both.

She loves the rain, and she hates it at the same time.

Because in the rain, no one can see Maria cry.


End file.
